


Beneath the Dross

by prototyping



Series: Through Fire, Flames, and This Thing We Call Life [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: AU, Action, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort/Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, bro fic, even in an AU Vanitas doesn't know how to friendship, friendship in denial, genfic, platonic, so much sass, this fandom still needs more genfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How these four boys ended up friends is a mystery. How they <i>stay</i> together is a downright enigma -- but sometimes their reasons show through, and it’s not as complicated as you’d think. Sora, Ventus, Roxas, Vanitas; modern AU and genfic. A collection of short stories exploring each of their relationships, done for the prompt “my heart is bleeding for you.”</p>
<p>Set in the same universe as <i>These Are Not Our Best Years (Thankfully)</i>, which I guess is going to be something of a series now…?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ventus + Vanitas

**Author's Note:**

> For Tao, who for some reason liked the first fic enough to request more of it. XD I AM ALWAYS GLAD TO USE THESE STUPID NERDS, so if I can do so to entertain you, all the better. <3

It couldn’t be said that Vanitas didn’t pick his battles. He did.

He picked a _lot_ of battles.

To be fair, he wasn’t easily provoked. In his small circle of what he would only loosely refer to as friends, he easily had the coolest head and was the least likely to start something for no reason. (Of course, “reason” differed from person to person, and for Vanitas that depended largely on whether Ventus was present.) It just so happened that reason usually found him more often than not, and he had too few joys in life to pass up the opportunity when one of his favorites came rolling around.

Fighting.

It wasn’t that he liked hurting people, necessarily, although that was undeniably a bonus sometimes. He fought because he enjoyed it, because there was something about it that sports and other hobbies couldn’t compare to: the challenge to push himself harder, the surprises that forced him to learn and adapt, that adrenaline high he couldn’t get anywhere else, and the proof that he was -- with one exception -- strong and smart enough to always win.

Putting idiots in their place was nice, too.

So when a group of some half a dozen losers decided to try and corner him in a parking lot late one afternoon, it couldn’t be said that Vanitas didn’t _try_ to be diplomatic about it. The leader was a guy he’d beaten in a fight months before, although it took Vanitas several long seconds to remember it -- at which point he gave an annoyed grunt.

“Unless you’ve learned to stay on your feet longer than five seconds, move. I’m not in the mood for an easy fight.”

Diplomacy wasn’t his strong point.

He would have said he could handle it on his own. He _was_ handling it pretty well, even if the idiots landed a couple lucky, clumsy hits thanks to nothing but their numbers, but it was obvious they didn’t know the first thing about real fighting. Even when one managed to tackle him from behind, he must not have expected Vanitas to play dirty; three seconds, several sprained fingers, and a possibly broken nose later, he knew better.

Really, Vanitas was doing fine.

“This is a little unfair, don’t you think?”

When that familiar voice suddenly spoke up, he -- and the rest -- froze mid-action to look over in surprise. Casual and relaxed, Ventus stood on the edge of the lot a couple yards away. His eyes darted along the group, taking a quick headcount as he frowned.

“Would be, if these guys were a challenge,” Vanitas quipped, dodging a sucker punch and kneeling his assailant in the thigh. He dropped like a rock.

Cocking an eyebrow, Ven watched the now five-on-one fight resume. “I guess you gave yourself those bruises, then?”

_“Nobody asked you,”_ Vanitas drawled loudly. He caught a fist in his palm and redirected it to the side, but a hard kick from behind sent him stumbling. Rather than rounding on his attacker, he shot a glare at Ven. “You’re distracting me. Leave.”

“Shouldn’t matter if they’re not a challenge, ri--” Ven quickly backstepped as one of the guys abruptly broke away from the group to launch himself at him. Maybe he thought Ven was going to help, maybe he recognized him as somebody Vanitas -- sort of -- hung out with, or maybe he didn’t appreciate the casually insulting dialogue. Either way, he obviously wasn’t considering that the group was already in over their heads with _out_ adding a second opponent to the mix.

Vanitas didn’t currently have the liberty of being able to watch, but the next time he chanced a glimpse over, Ven was bolting towards the group, leaving his would-be attacker behind on the ground with a bloody mouth.

Much to Vanitas’ irritation, Ven leapt right into the fray -- and appeared to know what he was doing. He nimbly dodged a snatch, snaked around behind the guy, and shouldered him firmly in Vanitas’ direction. Vanitas intercepted the opportunity, grudgingly, and kicked the guy’s knee into an unnatural angle to down him, as well.

“And when did I _ask_ for your help, loser--”

“Left!” Ven barked. Vanitas wasted no time in whirling around and throwing out a left hook, nailing another opponent square in the jaw and sending him stumbling backwards. Falling back a step, Vanitas felt his back meet Ven’s, but neither of them moved away. For a tense few seconds they stood back-to-back, using the position to take quick stock of the odds. “Three here. And you didn’t ask,” Ven answered glibly. “Now’s your chance, though.”

“Ha. Two,” Vanitas counted on his side. “And screw you.”

“Close enough. But since I’m helping, at least make it ‘Screw you, _please.’_ ”

“I’m not desperate enough to screw you, let alone beg for it.” That was an intentional twist on the meaning of Ven’s remark, but Vanitas wasn’t the most mature teenager around.

“You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?” asked Ven without a hitch. “Oh, wait, you’re single.”

“You little--”

“Would you two _shut up_ \--” They pushed off from one another as one of the guys charged with a swing. Unlike in the movies, the rest of the herd followed all together, intending to overwhelm the pair with numbers. Unfortunately for them, Vanitas was a seasoned brawler and Ven, while lacking in experience, was easily the fastest kid most people had met -- but their energy wasn’t limitless, either, and Vanitas already had several minutes of exertion on him. As much as he hated to admit it -- and he wouldn’t -- having Ven was a good advantage.

So he noticed half a minute later that Ven wasn’t within a couple feet of his side anymore. He didn’t think anything of it, but he noticed.

And then there was a loud snarl that didn’t sound like it could have come from these guys. Vanitas glanced over and saw that some punk a foot taller had seized Ven from behind, holding his arms while another kicked him in the stomach.

It wasn’t Sora getting hurt, so it wasn’t a protective instinct that rearranged Vanitas’ priorities in a heartbeat. It wasn’t concern that had him sidestepping a tackle, ignoring the opening it granted him, and instead dashing across the lot towards Ven. It wasn’t sympathy, or even fear of losing his only ally in this fight. When he caught Ven’s assailant by the collar, yanked him back hard enough to earn a choking noise, and followed up with a brutal wrist-to-throat strike that put him on the asphalt _hard_ , Vanitas only felt anger, but it was… anxious, almost. Defensive. Proud.

He rounded on the guy holding Ven, who was already scrambling to drop his hostage and prepare himself. When Ven hit the ground, he didn’t stall, but twisted in place and kicked at the guy’s shin. Vanitas took full advantage of the distraction, leaping forward over Ven and slamming a punch into the guy’s teeth. As their opponent fell, Vanitas stepped back with a wince and shook his hand. His knuckles had just about had it; he’d already lost feeling in half his hand, and the half he could still feel hurt like a--

“Thanks,” Ven panted as he climbed to his feet, pain still etched in his face.

Vanitas’ emotional hostility from before had already faded. “Watch your own back, idiot. I’m not savin’ you again.”

“Che. Fair enough.”

Three guys remained standing, but they looked unsure about attacking again. Noticing that Ven was still bent forward with hands on his knees, Vanitas hesitated, but then backhanded his shoulder lightly. “Think you can handle one?” he asked skeptically.

Ven glanced up at him, looking curious, but then nodded once with a half-grin. “Yeah. Knock yourself out.”

“Heh.”

* * *

“We got lucky, y’know.”

Vanitas had to click his lighter three times before it would finally take, setting the end of his cigarette ablaze. He inhaled deeply, tucked the lighter away, exhaled, and leaned back on his heel before finally acknowledging the comment. “Speak for yourself.”

Beside him, Ven lay spread-eagle along the asphalt. The sun had just descended beyond the distant skyline, relieving them from the direct heat. They both sported a number of scrapes and bruises, Vanitas more so -- only because he’d been fighting longer, he would have pointed out. “Those guys weren’t exactly great fighters, I mean,” Ven clarified. “If they were, we’d’ve been in more trouble than that.”

A stupidly true observation, but Vanitas didn’t want to humor him. “Congratulations on surviving your first gangfight,” he deadpanned. “Even though calling those losers a ‘gang’ is too good for ‘em.”

“You don’t actually do this a lot, do you? Taking on a bunch of guys yourself?”

Vanitas hesitated. It would have been easy to lie, to build up his ego by saying yes, he did, even though he’d only faced those kinds of odds once before. It would have been even easier to tell Ven it wasn’t any of his business. After another impassive moment, however, Vanitas just remarked indifferently, “No. I like the challenge, but you don’t learn much jumping from one guy to six.” You tended to spend all your time scrambling and improvising from one moment to the next. Good for honing reflexes, but not for preparing for the next time.

Vanitas took a little too much enjoyment from his hobby, sure, but that didn’t mean he was entirely reckless. Or stupid.

Not too surprisingly, Ven cast him a sidelong look. “...Huh.”

“What.”

“Nothin’. I just didn’t know you were so… analytical about it?”

“Gotta be. Otherwise you end up like those guys.” Vanitas eyed him skeptically. “Figured you’d learned that much from Roxas.”

Ven shrugged halfheartedly. “We don’t really talk about that.”

That wasn’t exactly a shocker, either. They went back to their tired silence.

Near the halfway mark on Vanitas’ smoke, Ven tried to sit up, seemed to think better of it, and instead just fell back again. A glance showed him trying to stifle a cringe; logic drew Vanitas’ eyes to other boy’s middle, and even from here it was obvious that his muscles were tight, his breaths a little too shallow.

He cocked an eyebrow. Without seeking permission or even giving a warning, he squatted down, grabbed the end of Ven’s shirt, and -- partly out of curiosity, but mostly because Vanitas knew it would annoy him to butt in -- pulled it up to expose his stomach and chest. Ven squawked in surprise. “Hey!”

Vanitas grunted around his cigarette, not sparing him a glance. “Don’t be such a girl.” Ven glowered, but then just fell back with a loud sigh, apparently too tired to distrust Vanitas’ intentions, even.

He wasn’t wrong, though. Vanitas was just observing, noting the grey-purple bruises outlining Ven's bottom-most ribs and parts of his flat stomach. There were actually some bloody scrapes on his skinny hipbones where those kicks must have hit hardest. Eyebrows rising in mild surprise, Vanitas just grunted again and let the shirt fall back into place. When the two of them fought, Ven always took his bruises with a straight face -- but there was an unspoken agreement between them to pull their punches, if only slightly. The fact that he’d been on the receiving end of those brutal kicks just now and hardly made a sound, let alone a big deal over it… well. Maybe he wasn’t as soft as Vanitas had always thought.

He remained crouching where he was, looking out at the skyline as he removed his cigarette to exhale.

He wasn’t protective of Ven. He really wasn’t. Which meant his frustration before had been… what? Just misplaced adrenaline? Maybe.

“How bad’s it look?” Ven asked, staring skyward.

“You’re gonna die.”

Ven laughed. It wasn’t a sarcastic or haughty sound, like he usually gave Vanitas: it was a real, honest, amused laugh, one that made him cringe a second later and roll onto his side in the fetal position, nursing his sore gut. “Guess you helped me for nothin’, then.”

“Nah.” Cigarette back between his lips, Vanitas set his forearms on his knees as he looked Ven over. “If somebody ever kills you, it’s gonna be me.”

Lifting his head with some effort, Ven met his gaze directly. They held one another’s stares for a long moment, neither one giving away his thoughts on his face. Really, Vanitas mused, ten years from now their relationship could have gone in any number of directions. He didn’t think it was impossible that he could honestly hate Ven enough one day to want to do him serious harm; but strangely enough he couldn’t dismiss the idea that they might really get along, either. Maybe.

Ven broke the stalemate by smiling up at him uncertainly. “That your way of sayin’ I’m your personal punching bag? Nobody beats me up but you?”

Huh. As stupid as it sounded, maybe _that_ was it. Maybe watching somebody else beat on Ven like that had irritated him… because it was almost like the guy had been encroaching on his role. Stepping in his territory.

The thought made Vanitas snort in quiet, sarcastic laughter. _God_ , not like that sounded pathetically creepy or anything.

“What?” Ven asked.

Standing up with a groan, Vanitas took his time in stretching his arms over his head. “Nothin’,” he said after a moment. “But no, I don’t think of you as a punching bag.” Ven looked surprised at what sounded like a compliment, but Vanitas cut it off with a sharp grin as he leaned over him, just enough to put them eye-to-eye. “Nah, you’re too loud for that. You’re more like... a pet. A really loud, really annoying pet. Chihuahua or something.”

Ven frowned, but Vanitas straightened up and spun on his heel to leave him there.


	2. Sora + Roxas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some mentions of (surgical) needles and blood, but nothing explicit.

“Roxas.”

He recognized that tone of voice. It was the kind of tone adults used when they were exasperated, putting forth minimal effort to hide it, and fooling nobody.

Roxas raised his head, eyes turning from the tile floor to the familiar figure in the doorway. Same indifferent expression, same cocked eyebrow that said he was being judged, same shoulder-length blond hair that always seemed so unprofessional for a male doctor. Those haughty green eyes quickly scanned Roxas from head to foot, settling lastly on his left arm and the bloodstained T-shirt wrapped tightly around it.

“Been a while, my boy,” Dr. Even remarked. Stepping properly into the room, he closed the door behind himself, glanced only briefly at the clipboard in his hand before dropping it dismissively on the counter, and moved to pull on some sterile gloves. “No worse for the wear than usual, it would seem.”

Roxas didn’t answer. The only thing he really liked about the doctor was that he was one of the few people who could tell Ventus and himself apart from one another at a glance. Even when they came in together -- and Roxas did often come along on his brother’s monthly check-ups, if he was able -- the man could identify each of them immediately before either said a word.

Other than that, Roxas wasn’t fond of him. Everything about his condescending, know-it-all attitude rubbed him the wrong way. Ven seemed to like him, but Ven liked just about everybody -- and considering Even was his doctor for a very specific reason, it only made sense that _any_ body in Ven’s place would try to be optimistic about an otherwise insufferable individual.

Fortunately, today the commentary was kept to a minimum as Even began his examination, taking the usual pulse and breath tests, asking the usual questions, all things Roxas was (for better or worse) used to by now.

After typing a few things methodically into the computer, Even replaced his gloves, approached Roxas again, and peeled back the makeshift bandage to assess the damage. It wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t terrible, either, Roxas thought. There was a crude slash stretching from the bottom of his forearm nearly to his elbow, the dried and caked blood on the edges betraying that he hadn’t come here immediately. The awkward location should have indicated that it wasn’t self-inflicted, either. It was still bleeding, and Roxas winced as air hit it.

That one eyebrow rose high again. “Only a glancing blow this time?” Even asked. He kept a firm grip on Roxas’ wrist as he turned away to toss the shirt in the sink.

“It wasn’t a fight,” said Roxas. “I just fell.” When that judgmental look didn’t budge, he added, “Skateboarding.” His voice bordered on flat.

There was just enough of a pause before Even spoke again to insinuate that he didn’t quite buy it. “ _Well_ , I think you’re perfectly aware that you should have gone straight to the ER with this, so I’ll omit that lecture. Neither do I need to tell you what to expect, I don’t think.”

Whether he was referring to the injury or where the bill was going, Roxas wasn’t sure, but neither one was a mystery. He set his jaw as the wound was examined, cleaned, and treated with a few drops of something that burned horribly, but he never made a sound.

Know-it-all or not, Even was efficient at what he did, no doubt.

Neither was Roxas at all surprised when the needle and thread came out, but he was disappointed all the same. That meant a follow-up visit. Great. And stitches sucked, besides.

Still, he didn’t complain. He only looked away when that needle drew close to his arm, taking a sudden and intense interest in the poster on the opposite wall that listed warning signs of high blood pressure--

“ROXAS!” The door suddenly flew open -- _slammed_ open -- as somebody came hurtling through, sliding to an abrupt stop when he nearly ran straight into both doctor and patient. Roxas jumped slightly, but Even remained impressively impassive as he looked over at the intrusion, the hand with the needle never so much as twitching.

Sora looked slightly out of breath. His bright eyes flickered rapidly between the two before falling to Roxas’ arm, the needle, and then going back to Roxas’ face. “Roxas!”

“I heard you the first time. What’re you _doing_ here?”

“I heard you were hurt!”

“But why are you _here?_ ”

A nurse appeared in the doorway behind him, appearing both annoyed and apologetic. “Doctor, I’m so sorry -- I told him he couldn’t come back here--”

“Leave him,” Even replied abruptly, his tone on the edge of a sigh. Once she was gone, he turned his critical eye on Sora for a short pause before returning to the task at hand. “Don’t just stand there in my light, boy. Sit down or wait outside.”

“Yessir!” Pleased at being allowed to stay, Sora promptly claimed the stool in the corner and continued to bother Roxas. “What happened?”

“It’s no big deal.” In the corner of his eye, he noticed that Even had made the first stitch.

“Then why didn’t you go to the ER?”

“ _Because_ it’s no big deal.”

Sora cocked an eyebrow, fists on his hips as he leaned forward emphatically. “Liar. You only came here because you’re trying to hide it. Does Ven know?”

“Ven’s not my mom,” Roxas snapped.

“Does your mom know?”

Roxas’ eyes thinned impatiently. “Who told you I got hurt?” he asked, trying to dodge the obvious answer.

Those dark eyebrows rose higher, threatening to disappear into Sora’s spiky hairline. “If you’re gonna keep secrets, I can, too.”

It took a lot to get Roxas riled up. Even Vanitas, as talented (if that was the right word) as he was at pushing buttons, usually had a hard time of it -- but right now he was tired, he had several more, less serious injuries under his clothes that ached, the anesthetic wasn’t doing anything for the burning pain deeper inside the wound, and he was going to have a hard enough time hiding it already with _out_ Sora knowing, even if he only had a few days at the most before his parents got a notice from the insurance company--

\--which all added up to a very short temper, very quickly.

_“Sora--”_ He started to stand -- but in a flash Even’s left hand snapped out to catch him by the shoulder, surprisingly strong, and forced him back into his seat.

“Sit,” he ordered firmly. Despite that his expression remained cool and he didn’t even look up, his usual arrogantly laidback voice had suddenly developed a layer of frost. “If you would like to tack on a second visit after this, by all means, my practice welcomes the business. But you will settle your juvenile disputes _after_ I am finished here. Understood?”

Roxas’ glower went ignored. “Yeah,” he said tersely after a moment. He wasn’t Ven; he didn’t attach a respectful _sir_ onto that response.

After he’d settled down again and Even had resumed his work, Sora ventured, “Sooo… at least tell me who was involved.”

Ha. And assume he wouldn’t try to do something about it? Right. Roxas glanced at Even, who still wouldn’t deign to so much as raise his head. Well, it wasn’t as though he had believed the story from the get-go, anyway.

Again dodging answers, Roxas only asked Sora, “Did you tell anybody?”

“No.” Roxas tilted his head, the motion skeptical. Sora shot him an annoyed look. “And I’m not going to,” he clarified impatiently, as if this were obvious. “It’s your business, even if you do wanna be dumb about it. But you can’t hide it for long, you know.”

Yes, Roxas knew. But he had enough going on as it was without immediately freaking his family out. Because of that, even this small relief -- Sora’s promise not to tell -- was immensely appreciated and took a slight weight off his shoulders.

“...Thanks,” he sighed quietly, shortly after a moment. Sora blinked; Roxas shrugged his good shoulder. “For not saying anything. I don’t want you to lie, but just… keep quiet for a few days.”

Sora cracked a smile, leaning back against the wall with hands behind his head. “You’re gonna talk to _me_ about lying?” he joked, but Roxas shook his head.

“Hey, I’m not a hypocrite. I just meant--” He frowned. Ven was way better at putting feelings into words. “...You shouldn’t _have_ to lie for me. I know you don’t like being dishonest. So… if you can’t avoid it, don’t worry about it. I can deal.”

Sora appeared surprised at that sentiment, but the look was quickly succeeded by a sympathetic grin.

“And make sure Vanitas doesn’t say anything, either,” Roxas added. “You’re the only one with any control over him.”

“Wha--” Sora dropped his arms, looking flummoxed. “How’d you know he was the one who told me?”

_Figures._ Roxas turned his smirk into a wry, if slightly annoyed twist of his lips. There wasn’t much of a difference. “I didn’t. ‘Til now.”

It took a couple seconds for that to sink in. He might have imagined it, but he thought he saw Even’s shoulders twitch ever so slightly as though in a silent chuckle.

Then Sora jerked forward so hard that he nearly upended his stool. “ _Hey!_ That was dirty!”


	3. Ventus + Sora

“Ven?”

It was pretty unlikely that Sora’s call would be heard over the thumping music and the raucous voice of the crowd, but concern didn’t always think things through.

Predictably, Ven didn’t react. Standing stockstill amid the dozen people around him, he stuck out, as did the unusually blank expression on his face. His right hand gripped the front of his T-shirt, directly over his heart, as his eyes stared unseeing at the floor.

Concern responded. Sora worked his way quickly through the crowd, shoving a couple times when necessary, and reached out to grasp Ven’s shoulder once he was close enough. “Ven.” Even leaning in close, he had to raise his voice to be heard. “You okay?”

With a start Ven turned to stare at him, blinking rapidly but still looking dazed. “I…” The grip on his chest tightened -- and if Sora hadn’t been watching for it, he probably would have missed the way Ven’s posture suddenly slackened, his gaze turning distant as if looking through him. When he swayed dangerously a second later, Sora was ready, swiftly looping an arm around Ven’s middle and pulling him against his side. To anybody watching, it would look like one of Sora’s usual friendly hugs; in reality he was now supporting most of Ven’s weight in an attempt to keep him upright.

“I gotcha,” Sora assured him. He wasn’t sure how cognizant Ven was right then, so he took charge and pulled Ven’s arm around his neck to better support him and quickly started through the crowd again. “C’mon, Ven,” he urged cheerfully. “You’ve got it. Let’s get you to a seat.” And somewhere quieter would be good, too, away from the noise of the school dance.

Ven said something in reply, but it was too low to hear.

By the time they reached the hall, Ven’s grip on his shoulder was painfully tight. Kicking the gym doors shut behind them, Sora led him over to a bench. “Here you go -- take it easy--” Carefully, he slipped out from under Ven’s arm to take his hands instead, helping him ease down into the seat. Ven winced as he leaned back, his breathing low and shallow. His usually bright eyes seemed almost dull, even vacant, but that may have been a trick of the low light. Sora looked quickly up and down the hallway.

_Now where could -- oh, right--_ “Just a sec!” He took off at a run, shouldering his way into the nearby locker room; seconds later he barged back out, carrying a paper cup of cold fountain water. He dropped onto the bench beside Ven, who was pinching his nose and had his eyes shut tight. “Hey,” Sora prompted gently, “try ‘n drink this.” He knew how this worked by now.

Ven chanced a glimpse at him, his nod almost indiscernible as he took the cup. Despite his state, he threw his head back and drank the whole thing in one practiced gulp, cringing immediately after. A few seconds more and he suddenly inhaled sharply, and then exhaled, the latter more of a groan as the pressure in his chest must have released.

The half-smile Sora had been wearing grew into a full one. “How you feel?”

“Great,” Ven panted, offering a warm if shaky grin after a few more breaths. “Thanks, Sora. Really.”

Sora shrugged, but his self-consciousness at the gratitude showed in the way he quickly looked away, folding his arms distractedly behind his head. Despite being the same age, he looked up to Ven in a few ways. “Don’t mention it. It’s what friends are for.”

Ven chuckled as he leaned forward, rotating his left shoulder a couple times as if testing for something. “Not all friends would catch on that quick.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t make it easy,” Sora chided lightly. “Not all people could hide it that well.”

Ven laughed again, probably unaware that it was a compliment. As active and bouncy as he always was, it was easy to forget he harbored a heart condition, the name of which Sora could never remember. He’d had it since middle school, Ven once admitted indifferently, although he insisted it wasn’t anything life-changing. The episodes seemed to come at random, usually just dizzy spells, but Sora thought Ven’s reaction moments ago had been a little more pronounced than the other couple times he’d witnessed it.

But he did seem fine now, and Sora wasn’t about to pry into something like that. Ven wasn’t Vanitas, after all; he wasn’t too proud to accept help. If something was really wrong, he would say so.

Still, that didn’t stop Sora from inquiring, “You okay to head back? Or you want me to take you home?”

Ven shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll take it easy, don’t worry.” It was the casual, automatic response of somebody who was used to making such promises.

“Heh. Who’s worried?” Jumping to his feet, Sora rounded on him with a wider grin. He was well aware that Ven was tougher than he looked -- but he would still be keeping an eye on him for the rest of the evening. “Well--” He held out a hand. “--when you’re ready, let’s go!”

As it turned out, Ven didn’t need long. He took the hand and let Sora pull him up, at once back to his usual cheerful and energetic self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ven’s condition is chronic cardiac arrhythmias, plus some complications. More on that another time, perhaps!


	4. Sora + Vanitas

A number of similar afternoons had taught Vanitas that this was a safe bet. As often as the football field was used at just about every other time of day, the hour following lunch on Thursdays almost always found the area empty. The exception, besides himself, was the grumpy old groundskeeper who made his rounds about the field to see what needed to be fixed or cleaned or set up or whatever before the game every Friday.

Most students steered clear of him, as it was common knowledge that he hated kids, especially teenagers, and a run-in with him usually meant an angry spiel about how ungrateful and lazy today’s youth were. For most students, one run-in was enough to chase them off. In Vanitas’ case, he and the old man had exchanged some cuss words and insults and then virtually, if silently, agreed to ignore one another’s existence.

So even though Vanitas used his trips out here for a smoke (he’d miss study hall, but who cared? It wasn’t like he used it for anything worthwhile, and the teacher usually slept the whole time anyway and never missed him.) he was never reprimanded for it beyond some muttered skepticism about _not appreciating the privilege to an education_ and _being a spoiled punk._ Whatever.

On days like these, especially, it was worth it. The last touches of summer were finally fading away to let fall usher in, meaning he was more comfortable in his usual black jacket and jeans. Rather than parking himself in the shade of the equipment building, this time he was stretched out on the topmost bench in the bleachers, staring skyward with no particular thoughts in mind. 

\--at least, until a hand reached over his face and snatched the cigarette from his mouth.

Vanitas instantly sat up with a snarl, fist clenched and prepared to punch in some teeth, but his hostility snuffed out like a candle when he found himself looking at Sora. His younger twin -- by a whole eleven minutes -- looked uncharacteristically grim, the cigarette held between two fingers as though it might bite him. He appeared to have monkeyed his way up the back of the bleachers, only his torso and up visible above the top bench.

“So you _are_ smoking again!” His tone was accusing, but there was more than a trace of disappointment, too. He blinked and gave Vanitas a quick once-over, looking puzzled -- and then after a few seconds realization dawned on his face, proving he was smarter than he tended to act. “Did you -- is _that_ how you’re hiding the smell? You change clothes?”

Vanitas swiveled around to sit on the bench proper, putting his back to the noisy intruder, but Sora hopped up beside him a second later. “C’mon, man. You know these things’re terrible.” Dropping the cigarette on the next step, he crushed it under his heel with a frown. Vanitas eyed him sidelong and silently. “I really thought you quit.”

“I did, mostly,” was the flat reply.

Sora cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah? How many you smoke a day now?”

“Three a week,” Vanitas countered evenly.

_“Three packs?!”_

He shot Sora an incredulous look. “Yeah, I can afford three packs a week,” he drawled sarcastically. He wasn’t sure a change of clothes and locker room shower could hide that much nicotine churning through his system. “Three _cigarettes_ , doofus.”

“Oh.” Sora turned that over for a moment. “That’s better than I thought. But it’s still bad!” he added quickly.

Propping his chin in his hand, Vanitas looked out over the field with disinterest. Honestly, he was surprised it had taken Sora this long to catch on. Ventus knew he still smoked, after all, and Vanitas had guessed that he would run and tell long before now. _Guess not._ “Now what?” he asked. “Gonna tell Mom?”

There was a pause. He heard Sora sigh quietly. “It’s not like it’d stop you, would it?” Vanitas didn’t answer. Sora set his heels on the lower bench, leaning back in place as far as he dared. “So…. what’s up?”

Vanitas mirrored his raised-eyebrow look from before, but with about twice as much skepticism. “ ‘What’s up?’ ” he echoed.

“Yeah. You can’t be sucking on those nasty things because they taste good. What makes you smoke ‘em?”

“Heh.” The chuckle was a dry one. “You think I’m stressed or something?”

“You said it, not me,” Sora quipped with a grin.

Vanitas grunted. “Grow up.”

Without warning Sora lunged, throwing his arms around his brother’s neck hard enough to make him stagger but not so carelessly that they could fall backwards. He set his chin on Vanitas’ shoulder, holding tight and ignoring the light glare -- and no doubt abusing the fact that he was the only one whose touch Vanitas would tolerate in this manner. (Ven had tried something similar once, jokingly.

Ven had ended up on the floor.)

“C’mooon,” he pressed obnoxiously. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’. Just a bad habit.”

“An addiction, you mean.”

“I’m not addicted.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you stop?”

“I could stop anytime I wanted to,” Vanitas snapped.

“Then _why don’t_ you?”

“Because it keeps me from killing you.” Vanitas elbowed his way free and slid from his seat, but only to drop onto the next bench and stretch out on his back.

Sora gave a flat laugh. “Yeah, okay.” When Vanitas didn’t respond for a long moment, Sora leaned back in his seat again. “So, any good fights lately?”

Vanitas gave a quiet but skeptical snort. “Like you approve of that any more than smoking.”

“For your information, I _do_. Just not much,” Sora countered. Then more seriously, “I was just wondering -- Ven looked pretty beat up in the locker room earlier, so…”

“...And he’d never start a fight unless I was involved. Right?”

Sora cocked a sharp eyebrow, a perfect mimic of the expression Vanitas often wore.

Vanitas grunted again. “If you wanna know that bad, ask him about it.”

“I did. He said it wasn’t anything to worry about.”

“You think I did it?”

“No.” There wasn’t a hint of hesitation there. “He’d’ve said so.”

Fair enough. Vanitas and Ven tussled so much that was it was considered normal; hiding it at this point served no purpose. Either Sora had noticed that Ven’s bruises and scrapes were a lot worse than usual, or he’d picked up on the fact that Vanitas always, _always_ left some visible mark as a testament to each skirmish. If Ven wasn’t sporting any bruises on his face, it was safe to say Vanitas wasn’t the culprit.

“He’s alive, ain’t he? Give ‘im some credit. If he says he’s fine, he’s fine.”

Sora laughed, but it was at least partially sarcastic. “Look who’s talking! Since when d’you give him credit for anything?”

“I know he doesn’t need to be babied half as much as some people act like.” Frowning, Vanitas quickly sat up and spun around to fix his brother with a deadpan stare. “It’s not like you to be so worried about him, either.”

“Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?” When Vanitas’ glare didn’t relent, Sora sighed. “...O _kay._ Roxas was asking.”

“Roxas can’t be bothered to talk to me himself?”

“He was gonna, but I told him I’d do it.”

“Why?”

Sora looked away, scratching the side of his nose. “Well… I know how you two are sometimes, so…”

That didn’t add up. Roxas and Ven were protective of each other, sure, but Roxas never bothered stepping in when Ven was fighting Vanitas in front of him. Why would he care all of a sudden?

“...You said Ventus looked bad,” Vanitas recalled slowly. “How bad we talkin’?”

“Not that bad,” Sora assured him quickly.

“Then why does Roxas suddenly give a crap if he took a few hits?”

Sora still wouldn’t look at him. “It’s not that.” He hesitated. Vanitas waited. “...Look, if Ven didn’t bring it up, then it’s probably not a big deal--”

“Bring _what_ up?”

“His -- he’s not… He’s _okay_ ,” said Sora firmly, “but all week he’s been… he’s not doing all that great.”

For a few heartbeats Vanitas only stared, the skepticism on his face increasing by the second -- but Sora’s discomfort was a telltale sign, and suddenly it hit him. “You mean he’s sick again?”

“Kinda. But he’s been just fine for the most part, so--”

The words were background noise. Like the others, Vanitas was well aware of Ven’s condition, something that rarely factored into their daily lives. At its worst, Ven had missed up to a week of school on a couple different occasions, but always came back with that ridiculously bubbly personality intact.

That would explain why Roxas was worried. Any other day, Ven getting involved in a fight or two was neither news nor a big deal -- but if his heart was bothering him at the same time, that could be reason for concern. Vanitas held no love for Ven and couldn’t _directly_ sympathize, but he too was human. He too had a brother who, despite all appearances, he would go to great lengths to look after.

Even if that brother was the often-annoying Sora.

Vanitas gave a sharp hum as the last few dots connected in his head. “So Roxas was, what, gonna come beat an answer out of me?” He found himself grinning by the end of the question, although it was a sour look.

“Well, he’s worried. And can ya blame him for thinking you might’ve been involved?” No, Vanitas reasoned, he couldn’t. “Just give him his space. And, y’know, _try_ not to start anything with Ven for a while, okay?”

Another grunt, but it was acknowledgement more than agreement. To Vanitas’ credit, he would steer clear of pushing Ven too far -- for now -- but Roxas…

_Hm._

Without a word, Vanitas stood up. “Where you goin’?” Sora asked, but Vanitas gave his head a playfully rough shove before dropping down to the next bench.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Vanitas--” Sora started, but he was cut off when a worn cigarette carton was suddenly tossed at his chest. He caught it, studied it, and looked at Vanitas questioningly.

Granted, there were only two sticks left, but hopefully it would be enough of a peace offering to keep him off Vanitas’ back about the matter. For a while, at least. “Stress relief,” Vanitas added, and then leaped down the bleachers two at a time, his boots clanking loudly against the metal and sending echoes up and down the field.

Time to pay the pitbull a visit.


	5. Ventus + Roxas

It was the last place Roxas could think of looking. If Ven wasn’t here, he’d just have to head home and wait for him on the porch.

Pocketing his phone -- still no replies to his texts or the voicemail he’d left -- Roxas took hold of the wooden planks and found them soft after the recent rain. He hoisted himself up off the ground and waited, but the old nails held his weight. He climbed, cautiously, up the tree’s crooked trunk, finding the twelve handholds to be a much shorter distance than he remembered as a little kid.

He hadn’t even broken a sweat by the time he reached the treehouse, fingers bypassing the last step to catch hold of the doorway and nimbly haul himself up and inside. It was dark, lit only by what rays of twilight made it past the branches and through the small window on the west side -- but it was more than enough to quickly deduce that he wasn’t alone.

In the farthest corner was his brother, all right, although few would have recognized him. He was dressed no differently than normal, but most people didn’t see Ven curled up in a tight ball, knees held to his chest and face buried in his arms.

Roxas blinked in surprise, his anxious reprimand of a greeting tumbling back down his throat. He definitely hadn’t been quiet on the way up, but Ven wasn’t lifting his head. It had been a long time since Roxas last saw him like this.

Frowning, he sat down there in the doorway. “Hey. Been lookin’ for you.”

Ven’s fingers tightened on his sleeves; he turned his head slightly, but still didn’t look up. “Sorry,” came his quiet, muffled reply. “Got your texts. I just… didn’t wanna talk.”

Roxas withdrew his phone and bobbed his head slightly, even though Ven couldn’t see it. “I figured you were okay. Aqua’s pretty worried, though.” Unsurprisingly, Ven’s shoulders tensed a little at the name. “She asked me to help look for you.”

_Found him_ , Roxas silently typed out to the girl in question. _Talking to him. He’s fine._

“...Sorry,” Ven muttered again, but this time he offered no excuse. Swiping his phone’s volume to silent, Roxas put it away again and leaned back against the treehouse wall.

“Something happen?”

Ven didn’t answer. Rather than push, Roxas just glanced around the interior of the little wooden shack, surprised and impressed to see that it had held up so well. A couple of the planks were showing signs of rot and several had splintered wide enough to let in a draft, but considering how old it was, those were small inconveniences. “ ‘m surprised you’re here,” he remarked. “Didn’t think you’d come back to the orphanage if you had the choice.”

Or what used to be an orphanage, anyway. He remembered reading online somewhere that it had closed down a couple years ago.

Ven shrugged weakly. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

Roxas frowned. Ven had no shortage of friends he could confide in; to hide from Terra and Aqua as well as his brother was almost inconceivable for him.

The questions bouncing in Roxas’ head didn’t have to wait long. Without prompting, Ven finally gave his answer a couple silent minutes later.

“It’s Terra. He’s… being sent overseas.” His voice cracked, sounding hollow and small and miserable.

Even Roxas’ heart skipped a nervous beat. Overseas. The guy hadn’t graduated all that long ago, and already…?

Well, logic reasoned calmly after a moment, the military didn’t exactly have the leisure of convenience. Or were all recruits assigned somewhere that soon? Roxas was far from learned in that subject, but he was pretty sure being sent so far so quickly was uncommon. Whatever the case, it was jarring to hear. Roxas didn’t say it, didn’t even show it much, but he liked Terra. Most people did.

His right hand fisted and flexed, an old nervous tic. If the news made _him_ feel this nauseous, he couldn’t imagine how horrible Ven must have felt.

“...Oh,” he said heavily. He winced, well aware of how lame and unhelpful that reply was. “When?”

“Two weeks.”

Another uneasy jolt in his pulse. Outside, the rain began to pick back up in a low patter on the wooden roof.

He wasn’t sure what to say. What _could_ he say? Ironically, Ven was the best person for these kinds of situations, always able to find that silver lining and remind a person of what really mattered. Roxas… He could try, but he didn’t think it would have the same effect. Coming from somebody like him, who had spent so long running from _what mattered_ and who still needed a reminder on occasion, such an attempt seemed superficial. Ven knew him better than anybody, besides, and would see through any awkward attempts as just that.

No. Roxas wasn’t a guy of many words, but he had two friends in particular who had taught him day in and day out that words weren’t always necessary.

He stood up -- mostly, anyway, but being a head too tall for the treehouse meant he had to duck -- and made his way over to sit down on Ven’s right. They stayed like that for a while. The rain grew heavier, lighter, and then heavier again, all while the sun continued to set and cast shades of deepening reds and oranges on the walls.

Eventually Ven looked up, but the lower half of his face remained hidden in his sleeves. A glance said that his eyes were pink. Roxas withheld a sigh, but it was at his own uselessness. He really wasn’t used to this. Ven was always the one picking him up when he needed it, always the one smiling and offering a shoulder to lean on to the point where others joked that he must have been the older one between them. (Whether that was true, neither of them could say. A detail lost to the past along with their true parents and the rest of their early lives.)

But maybe Ven didn’t need Roxas to act like him. Maybe he just needed Roxas to be Roxas, the brother he’d always stuck by through thick and thin.

“Two weeks,” Roxas echoed thoughtfully. “Then why are you here?” Ven twitched, either in surprise or the effort to hold back a reply. “Fourteen days. You’ve got that long to spend as much time with him as you can. Don’t you think that’s the best you can do for him right now? It’s probably what he and Aqua both want.” _It’s what_ I’d _want._

“...I know,” Ven admitted stiffly. “But I’m not… ready. I don’t want -- I don’t want to be around him if it means I might -- I don’t want him to look at me and… see how worried I…”

Roxas studied him for a few seconds. “You think disappearing all day like this doesn’t worry him?”

Ven’s eyes fixed on the far wall. He didn’t answer.

“And what were you thinking, anyway?” Despite his sympathy, Roxas couldn’t help sounding annoyed. Half a day’s worth of concern was quickly coming back. “You’ve been having chest pains all week. You know you’re not supposed to be alone--”

“It’s fine,” Ven mumbled. “Haven’t had any since yesterday.”

“That’s not the point. What if something happened? Who would’ve found you up here?”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Ven snapped, his voice rising. “I’m sorry I’m such a screw-up that everybody’s worried about _me_ when they should be worried about Terra.”

“Hey, that’s not--”

“Yeah, it is. Aqua’s been helping you look, hasn’t she? She shouldn’t -- she should be spending time with him--”

“ _Terra’s_ not being an idiot,” Roxas interjected. “And he was out looking, too, y’know. If we’re more worried about you, it’s because Terra’s not the one hiding from everybody when he’s sick--”

“I’m _always_ sick!” Ven shouted suddenly, rounding on Roxas with a hard stare. “There’s no _when_ about it -- I’ve always _been_ sick and you know I might -- _it_ might never go away. Everybody’s _always_ going to worry.”

“So that makes this okay? That’s your excuse for hiding out and ignoring everybody’s calls?”

“ _No_ \-- it’s not an excuse, I just--” Ven shook his head, and then abruptly dropped it towards his knees. The heat stayed in his voice. “It doesn’t… It shouldn’t always be about me.”

That hung in the air for a few seconds. “Who said it was?” Roxas asked.

Ven exhaled sharply, again setting his chin on his arms. “...Aqua already knew,” he croaked. “I asked her how long and she… They’ve been waiting to tell me. They probably thought -- the stress might…”

Ah. That put things a little more into perspective. Terra might have wavered on giving Ven the news for fear of jumpstarting his illness -- and then when it just happened to show up again naturally, he must have been in a really tough spot. Tell Ven and risk making his health worse, or refrain from telling him until the last minute, which might have been worse in other ways.

“You know… that’s why--” Ven’s voice cracked again. “--that’s why I’m always glad -- you ‘n Sora -- even Vanitas -- you guys know, but you don’t treat me any different. I can joke about it with you. You tell me like it is. I can do stupid things all the time and you guys won’t be worried that I’m gonna overdo it.” He shook his head lightly. “Terra and Aqua -- they’re my best friends before anybody else, but… sometimes they’re more like…”

“Parents?”

Ven dipped his head slightly. “But I like that about ‘em -- they’ve always looked after me, so… I guess I know how they feel, but…”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be here,” said Roxas bluntly. “Did you know Aqua’s been driving around town all day looking for you?” When Ven didn’t respond, Roxas pulled out his phone and all but shoved it in Ven’s face, letting him see Aqua’s latest texts.

_Oh thank goodness! Let me know if you need me_

_It’s supposed to rain all night so I can pick you two up if you want a ride home_

_And I don’t want to crowd Ven with anymore texts, so please tell him he can come talk to me or Terra anytime. We’d both like that._

Ven’s eyes softened as he read over them. “You gonna tell her that she’s wrong to be this worried?” Roxas challenged. “That she’s wasting her time on you because Terra deserves it more right now?”

Turning away, Ven exhaled sharply. “That’s… not….”

“That’s exactly what you’re saying. You’re all best friends, so they’re gonna worry about you no matter what -- all you’ve done is give them _more_ to worry about. You think they were treating you like a kid by hiding it from you, but you’re just showin’ ‘em they were right.” Roxas sighed again and shook his head. “I get that you needed some time alone, Ven, but this was a stupid way to--”

With a little more force than necessary Ven’s head whipped around again, his eyes glassy as they narrowed into a glare. “What if it was Lea?” he demanded. “Then what would _you_ do?”

Roxas didn’t react. He’d been expecting a rebuttal along those lines. “I’d do what we always do,” he replied coolly. “I’d make sure we hung out every day and did the same stupid things like always. I wouldn’t lie to ‘im -- I wouldn’t pretend I wasn’t worried. But I’d trust him to do everything he could to come back to me and Xion. Because he would.” He held Ven’s stare resolutely. “Terra’s the same way. And somebody like that deserves to have his best friends with him for as long as possible. And even if you’re upset for the next two weeks, being around you can’t make him any sadder than being without you.”

Ven’s stubborn expression broke. He looked down, lips pressed together tight. With a light sigh Roxas put an affectionate hand on his head. “I’m just saying… you can be sad. But… don’t keep hiding from him, doofus. I think you’d look back and regret that more than anything else.”

For a long moment Ven didn’t speak, didn’t move. He just stared at his knees, through them, as he thought that over. Finally, he closed his eyes and hugged his legs impossibly closer. His skinny frame sagged a little more as his anger seeped out of him, leaving him tired and sad and almost defeated. Roxas suddenly wondered just how long he’d been up here.

The exchange just now had sounded harsh, but like anything the two of them did, there was a reason for it. Roxas only raised his voice when he was passionate about something; Ven only showed his temper when he, or his ideals, felt threatened. In their own odd way, lashing out at each other did good rather than harm. Most importantly, Roxas knew exactly what he was dealing with now.

So after another lengthy pause, he suddenly leaned back and unzipped his large hoodie -- and turning to Ven, he held the sides open wide in invitation. “C’mon,” he prompted quietly.

Ven blinked, recognition and clarity flickering across his clouded gaze. It wasn’t a blanket, this wasn’t a storm causing them grief, and this was the first time Ven wasn’t the initiator, but the gesture was understood all the same. The corners of his mouth almost seemed to twitch, a shadow of a grateful smile that he couldn’t manage yet.

He scooted closer until they were hip-to-hip, that final bit of strength in his shoulders slipping away as he buried his face in his brother’s shoulder. Roxas wrapped one flap across Ven’s back, the other over his head, and set his chin on top to enclose him in a mini fort of comforting darkness and body heat. Ven burrowed closer and lower, shuffling restlessly for a few seconds and then falling still again, now with his ear pressed against Roxas’ chest, just over his heart.

Roxas really wasn’t the physically affectionate type, especially when compared to Ven, but he often made exceptions for Xion when she needed it. He knew how this went: just offer a shoulder and silence until it was enough. Let Ven sort out both sides of their argument in his own time.

For his sake, Roxas hoped it would take him less than two weeks.


End file.
